


a cuddle is a cuddle is a cuddle

by Saxifactumterritum



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26661448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saxifactumterritum/pseuds/Saxifactumterritum
Summary: found in my google docs. Arthur didn't get hugged when he was little, Merlin is gonna rectify that.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur
Comments: 13
Kudos: 164





	a cuddle is a cuddle is a cuddle

**Author's Note:**

> Long time no Merlin, how nice to find complete fics in my docs, what a nice person past!me was to leave them there for future finding and no work needed barely at all :) This is pure fluff, there is no substance, they are just gooey

Merlin remembers fondly being small and spending hours cradled in his mother’s arms as she tells him stories, sitting snuggled up to her while the grownups talk, sleeping tucked against her, napping on her. If he was over excited and wouldn’t stop running around or shut up she’d scoop him off the ground and hang on to him while he told her everything and nothing until, held against her with her heart beat and familiar warmth, he’d calm and still. He could, when cuddling with his mother, be a very still, quiet, patient child. Arthus is never still rarely quiet and more or less the inverse of patient and Merlin misses being held so once Arthur has, in a fit of frustration at Merlin’s ‘obtuse idiocy’, declared his undying love (‘god damn it Merlin why on this good earth do I care a single bit about you let you alone a lot?’) and Merlin has kissed him (‘what  _ are _ you doing,  _ Mer _ lin? Never mind carry on’), Merlin assumes that cuddling will happen. Arthur has a ginormous bed and, being impatient noisy and restless, must also have been held to calm and quiet him as a child. Perfect conditions. 

“... and then Leon was disarmed violently and his knife flew into the tree and a branch fell on me and I caught the branch and drove it through the heart of the beast,” Arthur says. “That’s how we beat the snaggle-tooth even though we almost perished. I’ll get my sword and show you the dent where it got bitten.”

Merlin sighs and uncurls himself from around Arthur, who was stretched out on his back for the five-minute duration of that story but is now wriggling to escape. Merlin tucks himself around some cushions instead and watches idly as Arthur gets an old sword out of a cupboard and then gets distracted by how small it is and laughs at how small he must have been then, goes to the table and stabs an apple flicking it up into the air and catching it, slices off pieces and eats them while moving through some kind of exercise, chuckling at the short reach of the blade. 

“Come lie down with me,” Merlin mumbles. “You’re tired, you only just got back from a three-day hunt that turned into a week-long raid on a bandit stronghold. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Yes yes, I’m coming,” Arthur says, discarding the sword and coming to kneel on the bed. 

He holds out an apple slice and touches it to Merlin’s lips, so Merlin opens his mouth only for it to be snatched away and tossed into Arthur’s own laughing mouth. Arthur throws the rest of the apple onto the floor and flops dramatically onto his back, disturbing the peace of the bed, wriggling and tapping his fingers and then flinging himself onto his side and wrapping arms and legs around Merlin, nuzzling into his hair. Merlin rubs slowly and calmingly up and down Arthur’s back without much hope. Arthur, it turns out, is not a calm person even while being cuddled. This is not the first time Merlin has attempted to spend a nice few hours snugged up among the covers with Arthur. Today it’s freezing cold and outside it’s pissing it down with rain and has been like this the entire week Arthur’s been away. Arthur’s faintly snuffly from being out in it, his eyes are dark with fatigue, his body must be sore, and yet still he’s not ever still. 

“I am happy to be home,” Arthur says, smacking noisy kisses over Merlin’s hair, wriggling to get to his shoulder, his neck. 

The happiness explains the restlessness. Unhappy, Arthur does still and does go very quiet. When he’s thoughtful or busy trying to work out a strategy or plan he is sometimes quiet also, though rarely; still he likes to pace. Merlin prefers to be moving when agitated or sad and be still and lazy while happy, the inverse of Arthur. They work around each other and there is plenty of physical affection between them, sometimes over excited and slightly violently so on Arthur’s part. 

“You’re like a big puppy,” Merlin tells Arthur, smushed against Arthur’s chest and shirt. 

“Yes,” Arthur agrees. “Did I ever tell you about training three puppies of my own, when I was small? All three of them died before I met you. I liked those dogs, they were good hounds. Excellent hunters. If I’m like a puppy you are like a cat, all lazy and drooping. Look at you.”

“Noooo,” Merlin says, sighing when it has no effect: Arthur bounces up onto his knees and starts examining Merlin, humming to himself, fingers trailing. “Do you not like being held, damn it?”

“Held?” Arthur says, stopping his exploration. “We’re cuddling. Held?”

“Yes, held,” Merlin says. “Like when you were little and being fussy or excited or too loud.”

“When I was ‘fussy’ or whatever it was, having tantrums, and... I went to the cells for a bit to calm myself,” Arthur says, looking down at Merlin in bewilderment. “Who on earth did you think might hold me?”

“A nurse?” Merlin suggests, frowning, he hadn’t really considered it.

“Weren’t allowed to hug the prince of Camelot, don’t be absurd. You want to… hold me? That’s what you’re after when you say cuddling?” Arthur asks, still bewildered. 

“Yes,” Merlin says. “Or maybe you could hold me, sometimes. But yes.”

“Oh. You should have said,” Arthur says, flopping back next to Merlin and stretching out. “I can do that. Cuddling is really boring though, you know that right?”

“Got that impression, yes,” Merlin says dryly, looking around at the chaos Arthur has made of his room: not only the half-eaten apple and discarded sword but a cloak in a heap that was part of a story earlier, a pile of books and papers flung off the bed at some point, a vambrace Arthur was polishing. 

Arthur, face to face with Merlin on the pillow now, gives him a smug look that softens to fondness. He reaches out and touches Merlin’s cheek, his lips, cradles his face and kisses him. 

“You can clear up later,” Arthur whispers. 

“Wow thank you,” Merlin says, tugging away, laughing. Arthur laughs in return and holds out an arm, inviting Merlin to be held. “No. I want to hold you. You… I want to hold you when you were small. My mother holding me is one of my warmest memories, you don’t have that.”

Arthur shrugs and drapes himself over Merlin, resting his cheek on Merlin’s biceps, resting against him so Merlin can wrap the arm not pinned by Arthur’s head over his back. Arthur sighs and goes limp, eyes shut. Merlin can just see his face, completely open and so vulnerable, the soft swoop of his top lip, his mouth slightly open. He looks very much the child and Merlin cradles him gently, this precious, beautiful person. 

“Mmm. That’s nice,” Arthur murmurs. 

“This is cuddling,” Merlin says. “What’s the difference?”

“Attitude,” Arthur says, after a moment’s brief thought. “I don’t know. This is what you want?”

“This is what I want,” Merlin says. “Are you going to get bored in a minute?”

“Maybe. No,” Arthur decides, his breathing deepening, sighing gustily, smiling against Merlin’s arm. He goes limper still and his eyes open a small bit. He seems quite content. 

“The sun’s coming,” Merlin says, as it finally breaks through the rain and shines in weakly. “That will warm the stone, maybe. It’s so cold.”

Arthur hums and nudges Merlin’s thigh with his knee, waving a hand. Merlin gets the idea and reaches for the blankets and furs, cocooning them. It’s not warm, not at first. They lie there, sharing their body heat, Arthur sniffing now and then, a few coughs. He seems entirely unconcerned or bothered by the slight cold so Merlin doesn’t both about it either, drifting, running his hand up Arthur’s side, feeling the muscle at his shoulder, rubbing a little until it gives, tension draining swiftly out of Arthur. Merlin makes sure to keep hold of him because when he loosens his arms a little Arthur wriggles and opens his eyes, looking around. Merlin holds on just a little tight and Arthur seems assured by that. 

“It’s safe here,” Arthur whispers. 

“Yes,” Merlin agrees. 

Arthur shifts so he can drape an arm over Merlin, hand resting gently against his side. 

“You’re safe, too,” Arthur breathes. “Use your magic to get us warm. You’re safe.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to sniff, his eyes stinging. He does feel safe. The vulnerable softness of Arthur like this, his stillness and quiet, is his trust and Merlin returns it, heating the space around them inside the blankets. He breathes out loudly as he begins to thaw, the sharp cold of the last week easing and taking with it the ache he hadn’t quite noticed, too used to being chilled. Arthur pats his side clumsily and they sink into the bed in the thick heat of Merlin’s magic.


End file.
